


Sugar Baby Love

by Demmora



Category: Hunger Pangs -- Joy Demorra
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Dirty Talk, Hurt/Comfort, I have no idea what I'm doing with this fic, Multi, No beta readers, Sexting, Sugar Daddy AU, Vlad is the most anxious-would-be-top I've ever written haha, Voyeurism, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, addiction mention, also I guess I should tag this for infidelity and emotional cheating???, angst angst baby, consent talk, crackfic, elements of light bdsm, heed the tags ye who enter here, i have so many regrets, idk - Freeform, if this isn't your cuppa tea keep moving along, insomnia blogging, no proofing, one little death at a time, online sugar daddy to irl lovers I guess, sub/dom elements, sugar daddy!vlad, switch - Freeform, the word daddy is used in a completely non-age-play scenario, this fic is marked as explicit for a reason, we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-02-28 06:16:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13265463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demmora/pseuds/Demmora
Summary: ...yea I got nothing. Heed the tags.





	1. Chapter 1

Based on this [post](https://thebibliosphere.tumblr.com/post/169300975101/is-nathan-gonna-be-ursula-and-vlads-sugar-baby)

....

His hands are shaking as he hovers over the link...

He'd told himself he wouldn't actually do this. He'd been resolved, sitting there in the light of day, the sounds of the city filtering in through the glass walls of his office as he came to terms with the realization that this had to stop. It had been a nice little dalliance while it lasted, had given him a dizzying little high to know that he was able to make someone's life better with something as simple as  _money._ (And not even for luxuries, simple things. Like college books and food for fuck sake). He'd enjoyed seeing them post about it, the tiny little snippets of their daily lives which none of the other SBs seemed to do. (Yes he'd looked at a few others, and promptly dismissed them, feeling somewhat oddly like he was  _cheating_ on them as ridiculous as that notion was...) 

Silly things like. "Had coffee today, thanks to Mr. V. for the Starb*cks card" followed by a string of irrational emojis and a picture of the most non-coffee like whipped cream frappe disaster to ever happen to coffee Vlad could think of. Things that had made his day a little brighter and brought a smile to his face, knowing that somewhere out there in the real world, someone was having a _good day._ Because of him.

The first time they'd posted a picture wearing one of the t-shirts he'd sent them he'd nearly spent himself sitting fully clothed at his desk, paralyzed by a bright searing satisfaction that was both satiating and arousing at the same time. It was like an itch that was  _just_ out of reach of being scratched, maddening and addictive to aim for. God it was positively euphoric.

And still he'd always known it would have to end, sooner rather than later. He could keep up the spending indefinitely. What he spent on them in a month he made back some days in an hour, and he doubted Elizabeth would even notice if he moved them into one of the wings of the house (and wasn't  _that_ a pretty fantasy) but it was the way it was consuming him that was starting to worry him. He'd tangled with addiction for most of his adult life. He knew all the signs and symptoms of becoming reliant on something. And while he was now _technically_ sober...it was only because he'd swapped one high for another. His AA sponsor thought he was doing great. Vlad's amazon account purchase history spoke otherwise. But he'd found ways to continue rationalizing it to himself. After all wasn't buying for _himself_. And surely that was better, right? Better than hoarding things he didn't need, like his father's second (third, fourth, who knew anymore) wife had done...he was  _helping_ people, it was  _selfless..._ Kind of. _  
_

And then they'd sent him that invitation, and the illusion had shattered, reality clicking into place like the click of a lock turning over. And he'd decided, there in his office. Enough was enough. It had been fun while it lasted, but all good things had to come to an end. He'd just sent them one more thing, one more gift card, explaining he couldn't do this any more and that would be that. Except then he'd told himself he'd do it at home, not there in the office. That felt so cold and uncaring. No he'd wait till he was home...except he'd forgotten that Elizabeth would be home, however briefly. And after another spat where civil pleasantries were discharged like shrapnel...

An innocuous blank page pops up in his browser, prompting him for a name and password. He already knows the password— _giftcard_ (unless they mean the latest book, in which case he has his amazon history page open at the side) but what about a name...he can't put his real name in. His name is too rare and well known for them not to put two and two together. And V sounds...impersonal, at this stage. So he settles on the endearing moniker they'd gave him—"Mr. V."—closes his eyes, and hits enter.

*

"He's not coming." Ursula says, sounding petulant at the prospect of being stood up by their mysterious benefactor.

Nathan glances to the clock on their bedside table, rubbing soothing circles over her back. "It's only five minutes past. Give him time."

"How much time?"

"I don't know," Nathan laughs, attempting to pull her away from the screen long enough to plant a kiss on her forehead. "Ten more minutes. He might be have stuff to do. Or no Wi-Fi. For all we know he's Batman."

"Bruce Wayne does have a lot of money..." she agrees, gaze distant before she snaps out of it and refreshes the page for the umpteenth time in the last ten minutes. Just in case. "I just...I don't want him to not show..."

"I know," Nathan soothes, drawing her back to lean against his chest, forcing her to pull the battered old laptop with her and rest it on her knees. "He's been very nice to you..."

"To us," she corrects instantly squirming to look at him over her shoulder. "We're a package deal, remember."

"To us," Nathan amends, remembering he's actually wearing one of the t-shirts the mysterious Mister V. had sent from their gift list. He doesn't quite get the same thrill form this as Ursula does, but there's still a forbidden little zing of  _something_ that flashes up his spine at knowing this. "Yes. Us, that's what I meant. But he might not also want something more from this, y'know? Like he might just be in it for the thrill and not actually want to do anything except spend money."

"Yea..." Ursula says, sounding more and more dejected, which is ludicrous because isn't this the  _dream?_ Isn't this what most people hope for when they sign up to SB, to be given things and never actually have to give anything back...Nathan certainly thought so. But then again Nathan had also thought he was straight up until college, so what the hell does he know.

"Hey, come on," he says. Sliding his hand under her t-shirt (another one of  _his_ shirts from Mister V. that slides off her shoulders and hangs  _mercilessly_ on her frame in ways that make his knees go weak when she runs around the apartment wearing nothing else but a smile) and stroking over her belly, traveling up the soft roundness of her body. "No tonight doesn't mean no forever, I'm sure he's just busy. Doing important rich man shit."

"Yea," Ursula agrees, arching back against him with a sigh as his hand gently cups the swell of her breast, fingers tweaking over the sensitive peaks of her nipples. "You're probably right. Which is a shame." she smiles upside down at him, arching enough to tilt her head back and look at him. "I did my hair and everything."

The screen on her laptop pings, causing them both to freeze, breath stopped in their chest as they experience the same out of body experience of simultaneous panic and excitement of what they might find as their gaze swivels jointly down. It might just be the connection timed out again or it might be...

 _ **Mr. V. said:** And very pretty it looks too._  
_**Mr. V.** **said:** Oh dear. Please don't stop on my account..._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've been awake for over 24 hours and listening to The Rubettes - Sugar Baby Love for the past four on loop. This is what going mad sounds like.

He's going to Hell.

Vlad has always known this, he's done too many questionable things in his life to ever make it to the other place. He might in fact already be there, judging from the sheer agony of being able to watch but not touch. And God willing if this is his purgatory he could die happy right here right now with the image of that strong, large hand sliding up and under an over-sized t-shirt to reveal the flesh beneath, seared into his eyeballs forever.

The sound of their voices is also an exquisite kind of torture, a deep rumbling masculine brogue that's impossibly soft spoken for a man of that size, contrasting with the sweetness of her laughter, a little deeper than he'd expected (somehow he'd expected something higher, syrupy and saccharine, but perhaps he's simply old and just prejudice against sweet coffee and too many emojis) and just a little bit breathless, as though everything is said with an air of rapt anticipation. And if that wasn't enough to acquire his undivided attention she shifts, arching and providing him with a clear upshot of her underwear and he nearly chokes on his desire, sliding lower in his chair in the study and angling his screen down with a surreptitious glance over his shoulder towards the door.

There's no way anyone is going to interrupt him, and he knows the door is locked (he has the key in his back pocket) but the twist of anxiety is still there, a dormant leftover from a delinquent youth spent smuggling trashy magazines into his room and stashing them in places where he hoped no one would ever find them. Along with all his other paraphernalia and questionable past times. (Ah, _memories_.) And it's not even an unpleasant feeling, the anxiety only adding to the edge of excitement twisting over and over in his gut, sharpening it with every turn. But he still wouldn't put it past the universe to somehow put an end to this. It's almost too good to be true...and then he sees it, the slender hand reaching over the top of the camera, as though getting ready to close the lid of the laptop and suddenly he's over feeling shy and says the first thing he can think of, cringing first at how corny it is, and then guiltily when they freeze, feeling like an intruder to their intimacy. Which he is. But the feeling lasts only a second when the girl, "U." dives forwards, tilting the laptop alarmingly as she scrabbles to correct the screen angle.

"You're here!" she beams, and Vlad feels it igniting in his chest like a sun going nova because no one has ever smiled at him like that before, let alone a stranger. "Hang on, let me put you somewhere safe. There," she says, patting the edge of the laptop with an adorable little pat. "How's that?"

His fingers hesitate over the keys again, wondering what to say.

_**Very safe. Thank you.** _

Contrary to all other experiences of his life, she laughs as though he genuinely said something quite funny. He knows they're supposed to, and allows himself a moment of jaded cynicism, wondering if this is all part of the act meant to keep him interested like the forums he'd read talked about. But he dismisses it because, well, so what if it is? So what if it's just one night of doing something fun and naughty and allowing himself to believe that just for one night, two gorgeous people found him interesting and entertaining and enjoyed his company, and not just for the money he could offer them. And honestly he's come to terms with that, really. His own wife before State and God has made it abundantly clear the only reason she hasn't slit his throat yet is because she needs his money. That and the pre-nup with the worrying clause about suspicious circumstances of death his father had insisted he include, making Vlad wonder just how ugly some of those earlier divorces really were and why he couldn't remember them. And just while he's being honest with himself, he rather  _likes_ that part of it too. He likes giving them things, likes making their lives better—day dreams about bigger, grander things—gets hard and high from just thinking about it, as fucked up as it feels to admit that.

Just like the zing of heat that goes through him when she shifts to reveal her partner, "N." behind her, and he sees him wearing one of the t-shirts Vlad bought for him, something tight and dark bubbling up in his chest with a possessive little curl that shocks him with its intensity.

While everything about her is soft and plump (and perfect, god the way her smile dimples is _perfect,_ even the scar under her left eye and along her nose is endearing), N. looks like he belongs on the front of some men's health and fitness magazine. The t-shirt is pulled obscenely tight over his chest and biceps, and Vlad is more than aware of the size of it because the damn thing was an XL. And while U. seems sure and confident of herself, N. seems... _shy_ isn't the right word cause his body language is relaxed, his little wave to the camera almost lazy in its briefness, but he's definitely not looking right at the camera, not in the way U. is as though she can see right down the lens and into his study with those remarkable tawny eyes, even over the grainy webcam.

_He should get them a better webcam..._

He blinks, realizing she's been talking to him and he's simply just been staring, torn between the two of them.

"—didn't think you were gonna show." She says, mouth lifting in a soft curl of a smile that is both mischievous and coy. "We'd have waited otherwise."

Vlad chokes on the drink he'd poured himself preemptively for this (tea, of all things. He'd considered other options to steady his nerves but that way is always a slippery slope to rack and ruin) It feels like an eternity since anyone has flirted with him, or he's had to flirt back. Sure he walks that precarious line every day at work, uses flattery and manipulation to get whatever he needs out of the clients, but he never means any of it. He might smile and play the part—a mere shadow of his father's charm and guile by comparison—but it always feels so...hollow and exhausting. Elizabeth doesn't even smile at him anymore unless she's about to tell him something awful, and still they end up fucking, even though he always hates himself afterwards. She's probably expecting to come home and find him waiting in her rooms, apologetic and desperate for some sort of contact, even if it's hateful. He wonders what it'll feel like for her to come home and not find him there...

 _ **I had some stuff to do.**_ He replies succinctly, guessing what will come next.

"What kind of _stuff_?"

And he can't help but smirk a little, starting to enjoy himself more and worry less. _**I believe the most accurate descriptor would be,**_ " ** _Rich man shit".*_**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * this is the part where I passed out haha


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst, angst baby.

Despite the way the conversation had started, nothing else happens that night.

Instead they had talked well into the wee small hours of the early morning, conversing about everything and nothing until eventually conceding to mutual exhaustion and agreeing to do it again sometime soon, like old friends agreeing to meet up for a coffee, and not like strangers sitting in their underwear sharing coy, witty banter under the blue tinge of a computer screen.

And he'd learned their _names_ too. "N" stood for Nathan, and he was a Socio-Economics Major with an interest in going into Sports Therapy, and her name was Ursula—Sue for short—and she was the one all the mythology books were for. She was an English Major at present, working towards her Masters in the field before eventually graduating out with all her _other_ degrees which she'd ticked off on her fingers the same way other people might recount a grocery list. Two liberal art students under one roof, and more than two degrees between them. It was little wonder they were broke. Broke and beautiful. And his.

He knew the last part wasn't strictly true, but he let the warmth of the fantasy linger a little while longer.

It had been a surprisingly satisfying encounter for all that it was, and Vlad had gone to bed with a smile on his face for the first time he could remember in quite some time. He'd woken up briefly when Elizabeth had come home, the sound of her door opening and the ominous silence before it slammed echoing loudly through the slumbering house. But Vlad had found it difficult to care. He'd come home enough times to an empty house over the years. She'd get over it. Probably as soon as she'd taken his credit card to Tiffany's.

Waking up in the morning for work should have been torturous on such little sleep too, but somehow he'd made it into the office on time. He'd even caught himself _whistling_ as he sipped his coffee, pouring over the edits in front of him and making corrections in the margin with his trusty red pen. It was ridiculous to feel so contented by such a simple interaction, but try as he might he couldn't get the image of them together out of his head, their lingering little touches, and the gentle humor of their very much genuine affection evident in the light of their smiling eyes. That they had invited him in to be a part of it, even for just a little bit, felt like a privilege, and he clutched the warmth of that feeling to his chest all through the morning until eventually taking a break for lunch and almost by reflex opened up their amazon wish list page and scrolled through the meager contents. It hadn't been updated in over a week, and even then, it had been boring simple things, groceries, books...

The thought of setting up a grocery service for them that consisted of more than just rice, ramen and paper towels floated through his mind. Or perhaps just even setting up a charge card so they could do it themselves. He was halfway to opening his appointments book to discuss it with his accountant when he realized what he was doing.

He was behaving like his father.

The thought made him physically recoil in his seat hard enough to push back the casters of his chair and send him drifting backwards towards the expanse of windows open at his back. He didn't want to reconcile himself to this sudden realization, but no matter how far he pushed back, there was no way of avoiding what he was doing. He was inserting himself into their lives as an authority figure, taking control...a source of _dependency_. It was enough to make him feel sick and he suddenly regretted every meal he'd ever eaten as a swell of nausea threatened to overtake him and bring it all back up in reverse.

He leant over in his chair, placing his head between his knees and trying to breathe through the nauseating surge of panic rising in his chest.

His childhood hadn't been a particular happy time. None of his life, if he was honest, had been particularly happy. But his childhood and the interchangeable merry-go-round of Stepford Wife hopefuls all hoping to become the next Madam Blutstein, if only for the divorce settlement, had left a rather lasting impression on him. As had his father's treatment of them. And while his situation with Nathan and Ursula was somewhat different, the parallels that were starting to emerge were unacceptable. It made him feel filthy, predatory even, in ways that not even trawling through the Sugar Daddy side of the forums had. And he couldn't live with that.

But he also couldn't just cut ties and ghost them for their own good, could he? Wouldn't that be like acting even _more_ like his father? Cutting and running as soon as the situation got too out of hand for his own taste. Was he really like that? Was he really like his father after all?

He glanced up towards his office desk, and to the silver gilded frames that held what passed for the Blutstein family photos. There was one of himself and Elizabeth on their wedding day, impossibly young and smiling a little too rigid to be natural but not entirely filled with poison for each other yet. There was one of himself and his mother, taken some years before she died (and the only remaining photo of her), and one of their most recent family portrait, a facsimile of happy family life. He wheeled back over towards his desk and picked it up, noting not for the first time, the ever-present scowl on his father's face behind the insincerity of his smile, and the polite frozen pleasantness of his step mother—Lady M—sitting beside him. Both he and Elizabeth were turned towards the camera as well, smiling, but sitting on opposite sides of the frame, as far apart from each other as possible.

And there on the floor in the middle of it all, smiling out at the camera like a ray of sunshine—Riya's happy face looking up at him.

He smiled, swiping a thumb affectionately over her dark, beautiful features. He still remembered that trip fondly, if only because she'd actually been there. He saw so little of her since she got accepted into college and bolted from her adoptive family as far and quickly as she possibly could. And who could blame her. They were still close though, despite their difference in age and the way their lives had turned out, and he was thankful for that fact every day. While Vlad had become a somewhat lackluster carbon copy of his father trapped in the same kind of marital hell, Riya was out, proud and living her best possible life. It gave him incredible solace to know that.

He stared for a moment longer at the photo, then reached for his personal cell phone, the one which only had five numbers in it and rarely ever rang. He was surprised when it only rang twice before it was picked up on the other end.

"Vladdy?!"

He cringed at the epithet, holding the phone away from his face for fear of going deaf. "Hello, Kitty," he said, greeting his sister's long-term girlfriend. "Is my sister there?"

"Hang on, she's in the bath, I'll take you to her."

Vlad glanced at his watch and did the time zone calculations. "It's four in the afternoon," he said with good natured disbelief, "don't tell me you just got up."

"Oh no I've been positively up for _hours_ ," Kitty enthused around a yawn. "But you know what it's like, late hours, busy nights. Hang on, hear you go. Riya, oh she's under the water. _Riya._ It's Vladdy. No I don't think anyone is dead no I didn't ask, okay, yes, okay Vlad hang on she's putting a towel on her hair. Okay, I'm handing you over now, come see us some time _okayloveyoubye_."

"Vlad?"

"Riya, darling," he greeted her, the sound of her voice alone enough to help sooth his fraught nerves. "How are you?"

"What's wrong?"

"Why do you assume anything is wrong?" Vlad asked, managing to sound somewhat convincingly offended as he reached for a cigarette and used the desk lighter to light it one handed, exhaling in a cloud of smoke. "Can't your big brother call you up just to talk to you?"

He was met only with a knowing silence, and caved immediately. "Riya, did I turn into our father?"

"Oh god, what's he said now?" Riya asked, sounding ready to fight the world if she had to. "You know you can't listen to him, he's toxic and uses you to project his internalized self-loathing. I do wish you'd see that therapist I recommended..."

"No, no, it's not him..." Vlaid said, wishing it were something as simple as that. "It's...something else...actually, uhm..."

"All right, what did _she_ say?" Riya asked, refusing to even mention Elizabeth by name.

"It's not her either...well...not really." Vlad pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He shouldn't have called her. This wasn't something his baby sister could help him with, no matter how tolerating and accepting of his disastrous life choices she was. "Riya," he began again, lowering his voice. "If...if you were me, and you met someone else..."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and the creak of furniture as though she had just sat down heavily. "Vlad," she began, lowering her own voice to a whisper, "are you cheating on Elizabeth?"

"I don't..." he said, trailing off and feeling the wave of nausea return. "I don't know. It's nothing physical, and it never will be. It's just...I met these people and—"

" _People_ ," Riya interrupted.

"A couple," he admitted, taking another drag from his cigarette. It did nothing to steady his nerves. "A younger couple. In an open relationship."

"Where did you meet them, at work?"

"No."

"Well where then? At the club?"

"No..." Vlad said, covering his eyes as though trying to shield himself from what he knew he was about to say, voice rising into a strangled apology as the words left his mouth. "Have you heard of a website called SugarDaddy dot com?"

There was another beat of silence, and then he jerked away from his phone in surprise at the sound of Riya's unexpected cackle on the other end of the line.

"Oh my god," she breathed out between laughter, "oh my god you're a sugar daddy? Vlad! Oh, can I tell Kitty? I have to tell Kitty."

"No don't—" Vlad began, but it was already too late. He could hear Kitty's squeal of laughter in the background as she excitedly proclaimed, "a sugar VLADDY!" and the two of them collapsed into hysterics.

"Thank you, so much for your support," Vlad replied sourly, taking another drag from his cigarette, and preparing to hang up. "I'll see you at New Year."

"No, no Vlad, I'm sorry," Riya recovered, "don't hang up, not yet. I'm sorry. Really I am, I know you wouldn't come to me if it wasn't something important. How long has this been going on?"

"It's all right," Vlad sighed, leaning back in his chair at a languid slouch, flicking the ash from his cigarette away. "And just under two months. They're college students, graduates, actually. Little older than you two...not that that makes it any better."

"Oh pft," said the disembodied voice of Kitty on the other end, and Vlad couldn't help but smile. He should have known she was still listening in. He was probably on speakerphone. "Please, you're not that old. My first boyfriend was older than you are now. Are they cute?"

"And that's horrifying," Vlad said, though not unkindly. "I never ever wanted to be that kind of old man, but somehow here we are. And yes they are very cute, especially together." He sighed leaning forward over his desk to rest his head on the smooth surface of the wood. "I know it's ridiculous. I don't even know how it happened. No, actually that's a lie I did it on a whim, out of spite for something Liz said. And it's turned into something...something more than that."

"You like them, don't you?" Riya asked, tone softening.  "You really, really like them?"

"I do," he admitted. "And I want...I want to take care of them. And I can do that. I have the means to just...remove a large chunk of their hardship and help make them happy. Is that...is that wrong?"

"Are you asking me if it's wrong to want to help people then, no, obviously not. If you're asking me if I think it's exploitative and creepy...well, are you being exploitative and creepy?"

"No, God no." Vlad sat up straight, then thought about it. "At least I hope not."

"Well what kind of arrangement have you agreed upon? Like what are you expecting them to do for you?"

Vlad thought about it, watching his cigarette burn down between his fingertips and eventually deciding to stub it out instead. "Well so far I just send them things from their wish list. Food, books, clothes."

"Sexy clothes?"

Vlad thought about it. "No, not particularly. Although I suppose that's subjective."

"And what do they do in return?"

Vlad thought about that too. "Nothing. They just exist and occasionally post a picture of the item on their blog."

"That's it?" Riya pressed, "that's all they do?"

"Yes. Well," he cleared his throat and swallowed nervously, "they did invite me to...to a chatroom last night. With a webcam. But nothing happened," he added quickly, "we just...talked. For several hours. About literary theory and the upcoming Pride parade downtown. And the new Mad Max film." Which he hadn't actually seen yet, but now at Ursula's insistence he'd ordered himself the DVD before going to bed and planned to watch over the weekend once it arrived.

This time the silence on the other end went on for so long Vlad was about to pull the phone away from his ear to make sure the call hadn't disconnected before Riya spoke again.

"Vlad, are you honestly telling me that you're getting nothing out of this but the joy of spending our father's misbegotten fortune on a pair of queer, broke college students who want nothing more than books, clothes and _food_?"

"Yes?"

"Yeah, no. You're good. You are in fact too good. You're the wet dream of every college student to have ever existed. They're probably terrified you're too good to exist. You are the moral shining beacon of what sugar daddy's ought to be in this cruel, hard world."

"I don't know about that," Vlad protested with a laugh. "I'm still married."

"Vlad," Riya said flatly, "that thing you've been afflicted with for twenty years isn't a marriage, it's an open wound. You deserve better. And while I'd never condone cheating, allow me to state for the record that I am glad, no, I am in fact, fucking _ecstatic_ that you have found something that makes you happy. You are happy, aren't you?"

"I'm...happier," Vlad said, realizing with some small amount of shock to realize that was true. "Making them happy makes me happy."

"And therein lies the exact reason why you'll never be like our father." She smiled, he could hear it in her voice. "Unconventional, sure. But not like him. Not ever."

Vlad swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. She was fifteen years younger than him, but still somehow always knew what to say. She was also right, he should probably look into seeing that therapist she'd recommended.

"Right, is that it?" Riya asked. "Or can I go back to being lazy and sleep off this hangover?"

Vlad laughed, clearing his throat. "Yes, yes go. You've been wonderful. Thank you."

"I know, darling. Call me anytime. Love you. And _talk to them_. Open communication is key to any happy relationship."

"Love you too. Bye Kitty."

"Bye bye, Vladdy, lots of love and kisses! Mwah!"

Vlad hung up, and leant back in his chair. Simultaneously exhausted and relieved. She was right of course. He needed to talk to _them_ about this, set out acceptable boundaries and clear expectations of what exactly they were doing. Give them a clear get out clause if they ever wanted it. Yes, that was the responsible thing to do.

And fortunately for them, Vlad was exceptionally good at writing get out clauses.

Grinning, he pulled up his desktop, cleared his next few appointments from his calendar, throwing them down the chain of command with a swipe. And began to type.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I never give you things, tumblr. I hammered this whole thing out while listening to the Greatest Hits of Abba after mainlining a bunch of sugar. You're welcome.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *flings self into the void*
> 
> Warning for use of the word "daddy" in a completely non-age-play scenario.

“What,” Nathan began, “the fuck is this? Come here, look at this.”

“What is it?” Ursula asked, watching his reflection in the hallway mirror as she inserted one of her many, many earrings, stepping back to assess her outfit. She had a show to perform this afternoon, and was nowhere near remotely ready. One of the other aerialists had cancelled at the last minute and left them with an open segment, but she was almost certain she could pull another fifteen minutes of performance out of thin air if she had to. And if she couldn’t, well, at the very least she could look fabulous.

“It’s a God damn contract,” Nathan replied, scrolling through what appeared to be a rather lengthy document on his beat up old laptop, the power cord precariously held in place with electrical tape. “Upon agreement of…” he muttered through the rest until he got to the part that had caught his eye, “whereby the beneficiaries may choose to end the engagement of services at any time, without expectation or any further obligation to the benefactor.” He looked up from the screen, the cereal bowl in front of him quite forgotten. “Is this normal?”

Ursula shrugged, leaning in to apply her eyeliner with a steady hand. “It’s not unusual for there to be some sort of formal agreement. But I suppose that answers our question about what Mr. Vee does for a living. He’s a lawyer.”

“Not a very good one if this is anything to go by,” Nathan muttered, continuing to scan the rest of the document. “He’s practically giving us free reign to obliterate his credit rating.”

“Maybe that’s his thing.” Ursula shrugged, having already come to terms with the fact that she’d never get her eyeliner to look even, and making up for it with an abundance of gel glitter instead. “Red or pink lipstick?”

“Red. I mean…look, please, just come over here and read this. I think I’m hallucinating.”

With a sigh, Ursula turned, flopping over his shoulder to read the screen. A moment later she pushed into his lap, ignoring his grunt of protest as she pulled the laptop closer and read the paragraph again. “What?”

“See!” Nathan said around a mouthful of cereal, somehow managing to feed himself even with her obstructing his view. “I am reading that right, aren’t I? He’s offering us a monthly spending allowance with zero obligation to, quote, _perform_ , unquote or do anything we don’t want to do. There’s even something further down about several months advance pay if we do decide to quit. This cannot be normal.”

“No,” Ursula bit her lip, thankful she hadn’t actually applied her lipstick yet. “It’s not. It’s incredibly generous. Like…I’ve heard of this maybe one other time, and she ended up married to the dude. Oh.”

“What?”

“There’s a phone number at the bottom.”

It took a moment for the words to filter into Nathan’s sleep deprived brain, but by the time he started to reach for his phone she’d already swiped it out from under his grasp and was dancing out of reach halfway across the room, a manic grin on her face.

“Hey!”

“Shh!” she scolded as his phone rang once, twice, obnoxiously loud on his tinny speakerphone.

“He’s not going to pick up,” Nathan said reasonable, “it’s the middle of the work day for people with real jobs.”

And was promptly proved wrong when the ring cut out on the fourth trill, and an expectant silence filled the room.

“Hello?” Ursula tried, looking hesitantly from the phone in her hand to Nathan and back again.

“You know,” replied the disembodied voice replied slowly, rich and deep with amusement, “I had rather thought it would take you a little while longer to call me.”

It was a little embarrassing, the loud clatter Nathan’s spoon made when he dropped it into his bowl. But his fingers no longer seem to be working, and he turned to gape in horrified awe at Ursula who was looking at him with a knowing, smug look because _oh no, he sounded hot_. Really, _really_ hot.

“I’ve never been very good at being patient,” Ursula informed him, and Nathan had just about managed to regain control of his higher functioning motor skills when the older man _laughed_ , a short breathy exhale that managed to convey amusement and indulgence in a single breathe and nope, nope, he’s gone again. Good bye.

He catches Ursula’s eye and flips her off as she continues grinning at him, managing to keep her own voice level despite very nearly dancing on the spot. She knows all his weaknesses, had even discovered several of them herself, and certain types of _voices_ is most definitely one of them.

“Besides,” she carries on, “you wouldn’t have left your number there if you didn’t want us to call it.”

Another huff of laughter breaks over the line with a burst of static, and Nathan can all but imagine him rolling his eyes, shaking his head at her playful banter.

“Incorrigible,” he all but chides, and Nathan can feel his face starting to flush. “I take it Nathan is with you too?”

Nathan feels himself go even redder at the sound of his name coming from that voice. It’s not a British accent, not quite. There’s an odd tinge to the accent he can’t quite place, but it sounds smooth and authoritative, autocratic even, in its perfect annunciation and carefully measured tone. Like someone used to giving orders and having them obeyed. It makes him run hot and cold all at once in a way he’s never had outside of his own lurid fantasies before, and from the way Ursula is looking at him from across the room it’s blatantly obvious in his face.

There isn’t a lot Nathan wouldn’t do, for someone with a voice like that.

“Yes, he is,” she says, and traitorously holds the phone out to him. “Say hello Nathan.”

The smart thing to do, would be to reply with _Hello Nathan,_ but instead all he can manage is a choked out “Hi” that breaks apart in his throat, forcing him to try again. “Hi.”

“He’s shy,” Ursula explained, and Nathan shot her a murderous look only to have her blow him a kiss in return.

“Ah,” Mr. Vee said over the line, sounding amused again. “Then that makes two of us.”

“Really?” Ursula asked, tilting her head to the side. “You don’t sound nervous.”

“I’m very good at hiding it.”

“Is that why you don’t want to see us naked?”

Nathan—midway to a sip of tea to calm his nerves—chokes, a sound that is mimicked on the other end of the line, and Nathan has the sudden mental image of a rich business man being forced to swipe water (or something dark and rich) away from the front of his expensive suit and tie. It’s a bonding moment for both of them, and oddly comforting to know he’s not the only one at the mercy of Ursula’s forthright confidence.

“I, err,” the voice on the other end says, and Nathan can hear the nervousness now. It makes him sound a little younger, and he adjusts his mental image of him by a few years. Not by much, just a little. There’s a creak on the other end of the line like he’s adjusting his seat, and the subtle telltale _shink-shink_ of a lighter being lit. “Not exactly.”

“So you _do_ want to see us naked,” Ursula pursued, and Nathan hears the drawn out exhale on the other end of the line, likely accompanied by a cloud of smoke. He’s not a fan of smoking from a health stand point. But the visual aesthetic is always one he’s found conflictingly appealing and he suddenly very much so wants to know what their mysterious Mr. Vee looks like so he can pair a face with the fantasy figure quickly forming in his mind, if only so it can kill him more effectively. He wonders if Ursula feels the same.

“It’s not so much as simple as want,” their faceless benefactor said, sounding suddenly very, very tired. “It’s a question of…” he trails off again, “let’s call it personal ethics.”

“You’re in a position of power,” Ursula agreed, seemingly able to follow his invisible train of thought as though it were written out in front of her like an open book. “And you’re concerned about abusing that, to such a point where you drastically over compensate with kindness. Does that sound about right, Mister Vee?”

There’s a pause, followed by another burst of breathy laughter over the line. “Very astute. I should have known your second and third degrees in psychology weren’t simply window decoration.”

“Oh it’s not that,” Ursula said, voice dropping to the sweet, coy tone she often employed at the club with a very particular kind of guest.

“Then what is it then?” Mr. Vee asked, seemingly content to indulge her further which Nathan knew from personal experience was never a good idea but was helpless to stop him.

“Simple, you’re not my first Daddy, Daddy.”

The word dropped into the air like a bomb going off, and Nathan found himself frozen, feeling the throb of heat pulse through him at the use of that particular word. It wasn’t something he was comfortable with being called himself, or even using himself, but the taboo nature of it and the way she said it, with complete unashamed bravado, was inexplicable arousing. And from the drawn-out silence on the other end of the line, Mr. Vee was apparently coming to terms with that himself.

“Right,” the other man coughed, his voice cracking like a man suddenly trapped at work with a raging hard on he hadn’t expected to be dealing with. “That’s…right yes. Fine. Good.”

He cleared this throat again, and managed to regain some of his cadence. “I’m glad one of us knows what the hell they’re doing then,” he laughed, a genuine sound of sharp amusement, and Nathan found himself mirroring Ursula’s answering grin.

“One thing, er, if, if we are doing this?”

“Yes?”

“That word.”

“What word?” Ursula asked sweetly.

“You know what word.” Mr. Vee said, sounding fondly exasperated, proving that he was exactly Ursula’s type as well. She wore the title of Brat like a medal of honor, and wielded it like a weapon too. Nathan had seen her emotionally kneecap hardcore doms with a well-aimed pout more than once. It was surprisingly satisfying to watch.

“Daddy?”

“Yes. That word.”

“What about it?”

“I’m not…I’m not sure I’m entirely comfortable with that. If that’s all right?”

“Of course it is,” Ursula said, switching tone immediately to something more affirmative and reassuring, and the grateful sigh of relief on the other end of the line was palpable. “Is there a particular form of address you prefer, or should we just keep calling you Mister Vee?”

“That…that works.” Mr. Vee said, sounding more like the charming stranger who had picked up the phone at the start of this conversation. Then added almost as an afterthought. “Or Sir would work, I suppose.”

And Nathan felt the pit of his stomach drop pleasantly away, making a helpless sound of aroused distress as Ursula fixed him with a positively shit eating grin.

“Yea.” She agreed with near malevolent glee. “That’ll work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *yelling* this chapter has fanart:  
> https://78.media.tumblr.com/ac2ddf6f1f95998b5fd6045e1dc469f2/tumblr_inline_p97wpjyS7X1qekfjh_540.jpg
> 
> Thank you Randa <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here, have a mini filler chapter that I wasn't going to include, but then I thought to myself ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

“You’ve been unusually cheerful recently,” Elizabeth said, eyeing him over the breakfast table with wary suspicion as she stabbed her grapefruit with a little more force than was strictly necessary. “Who died?”

Reaching round to claim his coffee cup from behind his newspaper, Vlad took a careful sip and carried on reading. “No one, dear. But there’s hope for the day yet.”

She didn’t laugh, and he hadn’t expected her to, so it came as somewhat of a surprise when she carried on talking to him.

“I saw the Carlisles at the club on Thursday. They want to know if we can do brunch soon.”

Vlad, trained by many years of marital discourse, kept his face and tone perfectly neutral without so much of a flicker of emotion. “That’s was nice of them.”

“I said we would. Next Sunday.”

“Whatever you say, dear.”

Unable to find fault with his cordial reply, silence was allowed to resume. It was accompanied only by the occasional sound of Vlad turning the page of his newspaper, and the gentle tinkle of the windchimes that lined the porch moving gently in the morning breeze.

It had been quite some time since he’d come out here to sit and read the morning paper. It had been even longer since Elizabeth had sought to join him. It felt reassuringly familiar, yet somehow inherently wrong to have this small moment of domestic harmony, as though everything else that was going on between them didn’t exist.

Beside him on the table, his phone chimed gently.

“Who’s that?” Elizabeth asked, peering over the table before Vlad had even reached for it. He moved slowly, lifting the phone from the table and giving it only the briefest of glances before silencing it and turning it face down.

“Riya,” he lied, reaching for his coffee cup again.

Across the table, Elizabeth pulled a face. It was hard to tell if it was from the grapefruit or the mention of his sister. “It’s a little early for her to be up and about, isn’t it?”

Vlad shrugged. “Miracles are known to happen. I dare say she’s already asleep again.”

“Hm,” was all Elizabeth said in response, turning her gaze out over the expanse of perfectly mowed lawn. Usually Vlad would have felt obliged to fill the silence at this point, but instead he let it hang, feeling it stretch on without end.

After what seemed like a small eternity, Elizabeth stood, tossing her linen napkin down on top of her half-eaten breakfast. She hadn’t even touched the poached egg and toast she’d asked Mrs. Roane for.

“I’m going shopping,” she informed him, a definite ring of challenge in her tone that was looking for an argument were none was to be found when Vlad merely smiled.

“Have fun, dear.”

He froze midway toward taking a sip from his coffee when she reached for him, gently turning his face up with a gentle touch under his chin.

“Did you get a haircut?”

“No.”

She frowned down at him, not necessarily angry, more…perplexed. Like she couldn’t figure out what was happening and perhaps if she stared at him long enough an explanation would present itself.

“You look different.”

“Do I?” Vlad asked mildly, wondering where exactly she was going with this.

“You look…younger.”

Vlad, who had never felt anything other than ancient, laughed shortly. “Thank you?”

“You’re welcome,” she said, still eyeing him strangely. “It’s your eyes, they look different.”

“I’m sleeping better.” Vlad informed her succinctly, leaning back out of her touch.

“Yes,” Elizabeth said, letting her hand drop as she reached for the pair of driving gloves she’d put down on the table when she’d unexpectedly decided to join him this morning. “That must be it. Have you been going to your meetings?”

It was meant as a jab, a slap in the face to remind him of his personal failings and negate the compliment she’d inadvertently paid him, but Vlad elected to pretend it wasn’t. It was so much more infuriating for her that way.

“Every Tuesday and Thursday,” he said, reaching into his pocket, and pulling out his sobriety chip. He had a collection of them in his nightstand, a veritable rainbow of successes—and slip ups. Other people had cufflinks in their top drawer. Vlad collected himself, one day at a time.

“Good,” she said, pulling on her gloves and draping her coat over her arm. “Can’t have you slipping. Again.”

Vlad merely smiled tightly, opting to ignore her venom. He was just preparing to go back to his paper, when he was thrown for a loop when she leant down, presenting her cheek to him. She was about to get annoyed with him when he was saved by sheer muscle memory, his body responding to twenty years of familiarity even as his mind whirled at what was happening, and he placed a chaste kiss on the side of her cool face. It was the most intimate physical contact they’d had in weeks. Possibly even months.

He didn’t miss however, that she didn’t return the gesture.

“Don’t wait up tonight,” she said, patting him on the cheek like he was a dog that had performed a trick. “I’m going out with the Leslie twins.”

“Have fun,” Vlad reiterated his previous statement, realizing he didn’t even care enough to feel angry. About anything anymore.

She gave him one last puzzled look and turned to part, leaving Vlad alone to finish his newspaper in peace. He did no such thing however, and instead waited for the sound of the car tires crunching over gravel—counting another thirty seconds just to be sure—before diving for his phone, sliding open the lock screen with a mix of intense relief and anticipation.

Ursula’s face smiled out at him from the screen. He hadn’t asked for pictures, in fact he still hadn’t asked for anything from them. But nevertheless, they’d started appearing in his inbox, small little glimpses of their life. Innocuous things like sitting in Starbucks drinking bright pink teas (Vlad had tried one this week out of curiosity and had felt the need to lick a salt rock lamp afterwards) or something ridiculous on snapchat (which, what the entire fuck was a snapchat, he still couldn’t figure it out) with her face distorted by some silly mask that made her look like a bunny or a dancing banana.

None, he noticed, came from Nathan, and while he put it down to Ursula’s comment about him being shy, Vlad couldn’t help feel a little disappointed about that. He wasn’t going to say anything of course. He’d meant every word when he said they were free to do whatever they wanted, or not do, as the case may be. And he’d stand by it. Even if the need to see more of them was killing him in all the best ways possible.

He swiped through the slideshow of pictures, smiling at the various different poses and faces Ursula was quite happy to pull for his amusement. If Nathan was introverted, then Ursula was most definitely the extrovert. You could bottle her confidence and use it as rocket fuel if you wanted to. It was endlessly charming.

Today it seemed, was a particularly selfie loving day, and Vlad swiped through them all with fond amusement. It wasn’t until he got to the last three that he noticed her outfit had changed, and he swiped back and forth between them, realizing she was in fact standing in a changing room.

That alone made his stomach swoop pleasantly, but it was the text under it that made him sit up and pay attention, gripping his phone in both hands as he focused all attention on the screen.

_Any preference?_ It read, and Vlad realized it had been sent in the last minute or so. He swiped back through the pictures again, and came to the only possible conclusion.

_You look good in all of them._

_Yes, but if you had to pick one,_ her reply came back quickly, _which one would you pick?_

Vlad blinked, not quite understanding why she had to pick one. She had his charge card, didn’t she? He knew they’d been using it. (Groceries, pharmacy, groceries, and what looked to be the occasional lunch or dinner that _didn’t_ consist of ramen noodles) Unless… _Oh_. The thought made heat squirm pleasantly in his stomach. Unless she was not only asking if he had a preference, but also for _permission._

There was every real chance she wasn’t, but Vlad clung on to the thought anyway, intending to save it for later when he was left alone to his own devices. It was ridiculous, how hot and hard the thought got him. Porn or any other kind of erotic material had never really done it for him, but this was in a league of its own.

_Why on earth would I ever pick one? Buy all three._

_But Mister Veeeeeee,_ the reply came back instantly this time, _I’m trying to be good :((((_

He couldn’t help but laugh at that. He could hear her exact tone of voice just from the text, could even imagine her spoiled little pout. It made his heart flip over.

He began typing out a reply, then stopped, clearing it away before starting again, only to do the exact same again as different desires conflicted with his own introverted nature. He still hadn’t quite recovered from when she’d called him “Daddy” on the phone that first time, and he couldn’t quite believe he’d been bold enough to suggest that they call him “Sir” instead. But it was out there now, and a seemingly welcome part of their dynamic from the way Ursula would occasionally throw it into their texting and utterly obliterate his concentration at the most inconvenient times.

So he started typing again, feeling the heat flush his face in the cool spring morning, even as his soul left his body behind out of sheer mortal embarrassment.

_Then why don’t you be a good girl, and do what I tell you. Buy all three._

He regretted it the moment he hit send, wished to God he could take it back, and was very nearly on the verge of typing out an apology and preparing to drown himself in the pool, when his phone chimed again after a small eternity, and he peered at it one eyed through the cracks in his fingers covering his face. And felt all the blood in his body promptly rush south.

_Thank you, Sir_ __

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the fanart this fic is producing haha, I still can't believe this is the most popular fic. But then again, in many ways, I absolutely can.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter cuts short for those who just want to enjoy the relationship/emotional dynamics of the characters without the explicit sex scenes. I've currently got chapter seven open in another tab and am writing it as this posts.
> 
> Because sometime self care is updating your crackfic wip in real time without edits just so you can enjoy playing with words. No betas, no edits. We die like muse possessed writers on a three day productivity bender.

“Is that a new dress?” Nathan asked, setting his bag down by the door and traipsing into the kitchen where Ursula was leaning against the stove, simultaneously stirring a pot on and reading from a battered looking paperback that had seen better days.

“Yeah…” she replied, visibly distracted by whatever she was reading, but still unable to give up the chance of a compliment. “Do you like it? I thought it might work well for a set in the club”

Nathan tilted his head to the side, giving her a lengthy appraisal. It was a short black velvet affair, with wide flowing sleeves and a synched in bodice that made it a little more suited for a renfaire than the local queer club on performance nights, but he supposed it would be someone’s fantasy. The way it inched up to reveal the back of her thighs and shapely behind when she leant over the stove was certainly doing it for him.

“Very nice,” he said, allowing his gaze to linger appreciatively as he came to stand beside her, tucking himself neatly into her personal space with familiar ease. “Did Mister Vee. buy it for you?”

“He did,” Ursula said, immediately switching focus to him as she fished her phone out of her cleavage and handed it to him with a viciously triumphant look. “He bought me three actually, and you should see the message he sent me.”

Nathan, sliding open the cracked screen of her phone, read the last few lines and felt his face start to color. “Bloody hell,” he breathed.

“Right?” Ursula enthused, “I told you I got repressed dom vibes from him. He just needed a little helpful nudging.”

“Smug,” Nathan admonished, tapping her playfully on her upturned nose and continuing to scroll through their message thread. It was fairly mild—for some of the sexting he knew her to be capable of—limited to playful banter that occasionally veered into something approaching naughty, before reverting back to the witty pleasantries and the occasional genuine inquiry about how the other was doing and what the weather was like.

It read like two people enjoying the giddiness of a new attachment, and Nathan felt a momentary pang of envy.

“You could have that too you know,” Ursula said, giving him a meaningful side eye, as though she’d read his thoughts. “If you engaged with him.”

“Yea,” Nathan said sullenly, scrolling through a few more messages, a feeling on unrequited want turning over in this stomach. “I know. It’s just…I dunno. It’s a little more overwhelming than I had anticipated.”

“Oh?” Ursula asked lightly, immediately setting aside her book and turning the heat down on her bubbling concoction to grant him the full measure of her attention. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” Nathan muttered, tapping out of her messages to find her background had been changed to another mutual selfie, his own grin glaring mockingly back at him from the cracked screen. “I’ll just let it fester some more and turn into bitter resentment and die an angry old man.”

“Well,” Ursula said levelly, picking up her spoon and stirring the pot some more, “that’s your choice, dear.”

“I dunno,” Nathan said again, crossing his arms defensively over his chest then forcing himself to undo the motion, opting to grip the kitchen counter top behind him instead and wishing he was still small enough to hop up onto the counter and sit. Or that their current living situation hadn’t been designed with hobbits in mind. “It’s just … we’ve never actually shared a partner before. It’s always been someone else, and I know we do the, the sex thing,” he gestured vaguely, trying to encompass their exhibitionism with a wave of his hand. “But it’s never been this _involved_ before, y’know? Like, I almost feel like if there was sex, if there was _anything_ I’d feel more comfortable with it. And I get that maybe that’s not his thing, maybe it’s an emotional thing for him. It’s just … today I went grocery shopping and I didn’t have any cash on me. I just had a swipe card, that didn’t bounce, because it’s being funded by a stranger who gets off on buying us things and hnnngl.” He trailed off, covering his face with his hands and scrubbing his fingers through his hair. “I just keep waiting for the other shoe to drop and I’m worried it’s going to be a piano. Or one of those acme safes. But at the same time Mister Vee. seems _really nice_ and I want to believe that he is. And I _want_ to be involved and get to know him, I _want_ to take part, but I just…feel… like I don’t know what I’m doing. And that’s scary.”

Ursula said nothing for several seconds, her mouth set into a mulish line as she frowned at him. And then her expression broke and she moved to wrap her arms tightly around his midsection, squeezing with all her might. Which was not inconsiderable.

“I’m sorry,” she said mournfully, muffled by his chest. “I didn’t mean to pull you into something you didn’t want. I’m a terrible not-wife.”

“Aha, none of that,” Nathan said, pulling back from the hug to look her meaningfully in the eye, “I didn’t say I didn’t want it. I knew what I was agreeing to. I just … need more help processing it than I thought I would.”

“I know, and I didn’t notice.”

“No, I didn’t let you know,” Nathan corrected, smiling gently at her upturned pout.

“But…”

“Lets just both agree we failed to communicate correctly, and move on from there,” he suggested, pulling her back in for another hug, taking comfort in her presence.

“Okay,” she murmured against his chest, returning the squeeze again, hard enough to elicit a grunt. “So what can I do to help?”

“I don’t know,” Nathan sighed, setting his chin to rest gently atop her head as he thought. “This helps.”

“Does it?” she asked, and Nathan nodded letting his hands run up and down the length of her back, enjoying the soft feel of the velvet under his hands. It really was a very nice dress. It’d look even better on the floor, but now was perhaps not the time to voice that.

They stood in silence for a while, listening to the sound of apartment life going on around him. A slammed door on the floor below, muffled voices through the walls, the sound of a stereo turned up too high followed by the sound of someone banging for it to stop. It wasn’t much, but it was the sound of home, at least, where home was for now. And there was a certain kind of comfort in that.

After a little while longer, Ursula began to shift restlessly in his arms, and Nathan let his hold slide free.

“I love you,” she said, standing up on tip toe to place a chaste but sincere kiss to his mouth. “Very much.”

“I love you too,” Nathan replied back, returning the kiss with a smile as she turned to pick up the wooden spoon and resumed stirring the pot. It smelled faintly medicinal, whatever it was. Cough syrup, probably, given that they were coming into October and cold and flu season would soon threaten.

“But we still need to figure out what we’re going to do about this,” Ursula said, waving the spoon under his nose, looking so deadly serious Nathan couldn’t help but laugh. When she looked fit to smack him with it, he held his hands up.

“I know, I know. I’m not laughing at you or the situation. You just look so fierce with the spoon.”

“Spoons are a valuable and formidable tool,” she informed him solemnly, invoking another wry chuckle, and smiling softly herself. “Oh,” she turned back to face him, suddenly serious again, “did you get the batteries I left out for you this morning?”

“Yes,” Nathan said, reaching up absently to touch his hearing aid out of habit. “Thank you. You were right, changing them out did help. I’ll probably need to spring for a new one soon though, the batteries shouldn’t be running out that quick.”

“Hmm,” Ursula said, making an unhappy sound of sympathy. “Oh, I just thought of something.”

“What?” Nathan asked, wary of the tone in her voice. He knew that tone. It was the kind of tone that lead to bungee jumping and waking up after a burning man weekend with a new tattoo you didn’t remember getting.

“So, the thing with Mister Vee. … are you shy because he _knows us_ , or is it something else? Like, is it the intimacy that’s throwing you?”

Nathan thought about it, scratching idly at the scruff on his neck. “I think … yea, I think that’s probably part of it. Like sex is sex, but this is … more.”

“Okay, so, what if I’m the vee? What if you engage through me.”

“Aren’t I already?” Nathan asked quizzically.

“You’re engaging _passively_ ,” Ursula corrected, setting aside the spoon again as she warmed up to the idea. “What if you were actively engaging in how I engage with him?”

“How?”

“So instead of me taking selfies, you could take pictures of me, and send them from your phone.”

Nathan frowned, “I dunno…”

“You could _film me,_ ” Ursula said, her smile taking on a knowing edge that cut directly to the core of his voyeuristic little soul, making him squirm from foot to foot and eliciting a shiver down his spine at the thought. “You both have that particular proclivity in common…”

“Do we?” Nathan asked, unable to help himself from being drawn in as she slid back into his arms, her smile taking on a positively vicious gleam as she rubbed up against him and felt the evidence of his firm interest in the idea. “What else do we have in common?”

“Hmm, lots of things,” Ursula shrugged coyly, looking up at him from under dark lashes. “Similar taste in books. Films. Repressed dom tendencies and a weakness for spoiling bratty little sluts.”

“That a fact?” Nathan asked, feeling the spike of heat lance through him from top to toe as Ursula bit her lip and nodded shyly, casting him a timid sidelong glance that was _absolutely_ feigned for his benefit.

“Mhm,” she hummed, gently walking her fingers up the front of his shirt, playing with the buttons. “It could be a bonding experience for both of you.”

“Is that the only bonding on offer?” Nathan asked, reaching down to hike her up with a firm squeeze of her ass as she shrieked in glee and wrapped her legs around his waist.

“Doesn’t have to be,” she murmured, laughing against his mouth, close enough to kiss but keeping herself deliberately just out of reach.

“That really is a lovely dress,” Nathan said, playing the game and diverting his attention to the tantalizing amount of cleavage on display.

“Well,” Ursula preened under the attention, “you can thank Mister Vee for it yourself.”

“Later,” Nathan promised, starting to walk them down the hall towards their bedroom.

“Wait!”

And then abruptly back out into the kitchen, still holding Ursula securely in his arms as she bent backwards in his hold to twist about with all the agility and grace of her profession, and turned the heat off on the stove.

“Okay,” she said, pulling herself up and securing her grip firmly around his neck, “now let’s go.”


End file.
